


Player, Part Two

by chrissy2



Series: Player [2]
Category: Bon Jovi (Band)
Genre: A David Story, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-08-27 06:06:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16696894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrissy2/pseuds/chrissy2
Summary: Dave had heard some things about him from friends, the girls in particular. And they weren't very flattering things. A part of him had always known, though. They always come from them nice neighborhoods. They look like they live the dream and are model citizens, but there's always something--something off about them.





	1. Him

**Author's Note:**

> This is not meant to portray the real-life persons in a bad light and I make no money. I'm just a sick, twisted person.

**I**

They always come from nice neighborhoods. They have those big houses, the hottest cars, the nicely-cut lawns, and the big dog. They're the homes of the two and a half kids with the mother that can make food that could win contests and the blue-collar working father. They're upper-middle class, with seemingly no real reason to have an urge to "rebel against the system with that anti-establishment mood". 

Dave wondered when he started growing weary of the guy. He thought all the way back to when they were in elementary school and wondered if he thought the guy was weird to him then. It's difficult to say. The younger the kid, the harder they are to read. Young kids are no doubt capable of being anything but innocent. That was no secret to him and his peers (unlike all their parents, who view all children as innocent and naive). Young kids are always more complicated than they seem. They grow sexually curious. They harm animals and other small kids, and sometimes even kill them because they do not understand what death is. Dave had heard from friends about how when they were little, they microwaved cats and sat on baby chicks and felt horrible looking back on it. But then there were actual cases of small kids killing with malicious intent. It didn't happen too much in their area, but it was enough to make Dave's blood run cold. Those kinds of kids often came from poor, rough homes. They all had abusive parents. There was always something to blame.

But the guy he had in mind came from a model family. The malicious kids that started off in rough homes--they were somehow different to upper-middle class, suburban malicious kids. It's because they appeared normal and likeable, and people tend to not want to think about something so contradicting and complicated.

His name was mentioned a lot, even in the local paper. All the fathers wanted their own sons to strive to be a football player like him.

 

**II**

Puberty, on the other hand, is rough for everyone. No one goes through it unfazed, even those that managed to remain attractive and skinny through it all. For those that remain popular and attractive and skinny, they might have something going on in their head. For this guy, it was something fucked up. Something or someone fucked him up somewhere. Maybe his parents were not so great to their kids behind closed doors. Or maybe the fame of being a small-town legend got to his head and he felt--entitled.

 

**III**

This suspicion bubbled back to the surface in high school when Dave went to the bathroom and read some of the graffiti on the wall. They were things said about him, and they were not in any way flattering. They were about how he was a bastard and how he deserved to be shot or how his dad was a bastard too.

The writings were shrugged off, seen as scribbles of jealous guys that wanted to reach his level to get the girls.

 

**IV**

Then one morning, when Dave just sat down at his desk for the first class of the day, he looked in the direction of a girl friend who sat across from him. It might of been because it was early in the morning and she might have been tired, but he had never seen her like this. She looked like she had seen or ghost, or did not get a wink of sleep because she spent the whole night crying and then begged her parents to let her skip school. She looked liked she really did not want to be there.

When Dave asked her what was wrong, she could hardly speak, or form proper sentences. Finally, she pulled out her notebook and with a shaky hand, wrote her answer:

_I was raped._

Dave asked who it was, and she never answered. Instead of throwing the paper away, she kept it as a torn piece in her backpack. She went through great lengths to make sure absolutely no one found out. When that class was over, she begged Dave to walk her to her next class.

He would walk her to class multiple times after that.

A month later, she dropped out, and went in and out of minimum wage jobs. 

Dave never learned who her attacker was. He never figured out if it was that football player or not. 

 

**VII**

And another girl friend of his--it was one of the worst nights of his life, but it was probably much worse for her.

Dave let a couple of friends convince him to sneak out one night and go to an upperclassman's party just down the street. At first, he was shy and uncomfortable. But after some smokes, he loosened up and the loud music didn't seem as insufferable or the partiers as annoying. It was only some small puffs, so the high didn't last long. Dave went out the back kitchen door for the come down, finding the music insufferable and the partiers annoying again.

When he sobered up, he started back home.

That's when he found her. He found her behind one of the neighborhood's dumpsters. She was laying down on her stomach, half naked and completely distraught. (He recognized her from the sweater she was wearing. It was her favorite sweater. But after that night, he'd never see her wear it again. She even changed her shoes and cut her hair.) 

There's a pile of muck by her face on the filthy ground in which she laid and he couldn't figure out if it was because of the alcohol, or the attack.

Dave helped her stand, making sure she did not choke on her own vomit. If her pants were not halfway pulled down, he would have assumed she just passed out from drunkenness. And maybe she did--before that. 

This girl friend of Dave's, she **did** tell him who it was. And it **was** him. It made him want to throw up too. She repeated it over and over as he helped put her clothes back on and walked her home. She shook and repeated his name as if saying it would make her feel better.

The next time he saw her, she became mute, just like his home room classmate.

 

**VIII**

Then there was Dorothea (who everyone called Dot), another girl friend of Dave's. He did not attack her, and Dave was sure (as well as everyone else) that if anyone tried to attack her, she'd kill them. She was one ambitious karate chick, determined to become one of the best. (As she would, becoming the fourth leading brown belt in the United States of America at one point.) Dot was strong-willed, chatty, and down-right charming, definitely not what you would think a traumatised person would be. (Dave was sure that were persons like so that had been attacked, but he was almost positive she wasn't one.) What striked him as odd was when he started to notice that her and her on-and-off guy, John, seemed to be having more fights than usual. John was quiet and kind of a nerd, with a dorky smile; the type to fill up notebooks with scribbles of poetry and short stories, often hanging around the drama kids and marching band, like Dave himself. It was an odd mix with Dot's more flamboyant personality. They seemed so different that Dave wondered why they kept running back to each other.

John and Dot, over the years, since middle school--they were coming and going, dating for a few weeks here and then distant for a few here. It was like that all the time. Dave, as well as others, were used to their patterns. Dave often figured out what "stage" they were in when he passed by them for the early morning break, when the school just opened and everyone was hanging out before the first class. When they were fighting and growing distant just before the "off" stage, Dave would pass by them and they would have harsh tones and snap at each other, challange one another, not sitting close and not smiling their equally wide and child-like smiles. 

Dot confronted Dave during their "off" stage, after their snapping and growing distant. It was most unusual. For some reason, she got the idea that John and him were good friends. ("You guys hang out sometimes, right?" "I mean, not really." "Really?") Sure, they talked sometimes, when the marching band got them together, but they still weren't so much "good friends". John could be a little wishy washy and moody and it threw Dave off sometimes.

At first, it was, "Lemma, have you talked to John any?" Not really, no.

Then, "Do you think he's acting funny?" I mean, he can get moody. "Sure, he can. But it's more than usual."


	2. Finding John

**I**

Then Richie, a mutual friend, asked Dave if he had known any good vocalists, and was good enough and serious enough to join a band, and out of all people, for some reason, he once again thought of John. Perhaps it was because Dot kept bringing him up. 

Dave responds: "One kid comes to mind right now. His name's John."

Richie: "Which one?"

Dave tells him that he has a funny last name--Italian--and he isn't even sure if he was pronouncing it all right. Richie asks Dave to give "this John" a little message, and if he's interested, maybe they will meet up sometime. 

Dave: "Sure thing. Play it by ear."

Richie grins that funny grin of his. "Sure thing." It was so goofy to him. Girls might have found it attractive, among other things. 

Man, more and more kids were at it on forming rock bands lately. It was kind of ridiculous and extravagant.

 

**II**

So now Dave had two people out looking for John. And now that it was mentioned, Dot may have had a point. Dave had not seen John at all for about a week: not at school, not at the neighborhood they lived on, not on the buses, or if he was riding in a car, not seeing him walking down the pavement.

But Dave, at first, was not dead set on finding him. Richie had gone in and out of groups before and Dave had his doubts about the upperclassmen actually being successful at this whole rock band thing. 

The next time he ran into Dot, though, during a lunch break, he expressed his concerns. He wanted to chat before she ended up being sucked into another contest or something: "I think you're right. I haven't seen him at all in days."

She nods, her eyes shaped in a sad way Dave had never seen on Dot, ever: "I went by his house the other day, and his parents said he was hardly around there either. And he and his brother don't talk as much as they used to, so he didn't know either."

It wasn't really that unusual. Kids their age stayed out all the time. There was a thick level of naivete back in those days. Dave's folks always rolled their eyes when he brought it all up over meals. In despite of the statistics, people believed it was actually safer to roam the streets at all hours. The seventies showed signs of an impending decline in the economy, but things looked so well that no one cared about it. That, or they just refused to accept that the economy was eventually going to go down the toilet, that the social problems were very real and worth talking about, that STDs were getting worse, that the global temperatures were rising. One of the most brutal wars in American history was taking place and most were completely unaware of it. Kids as young as thirteen were dying in it. And even though there were a number of cases of street crime, people still let their kids stay out to do whatever and left their doors and windows open, left their car keys in the visor of their unlocked cars.

There's a pause as both he and Dot decide how to handle this little disappearance. Then Dave smirks, and he cannot tell if he's saying this to cheer her up or because it might actually be a possibility: "Maybe John's forming a rock band somewhere. A lot of kids are doing it now."

He's glad to see Dot break into a laugh: "Probably. Who knows with him. He used to tell me everything that was on his mind. Maybe it's just a guy puberty thing. I don't know. He certainly can sing. But he's so shy. He only sings to me when we're alone. I know we have our down times. But even when that happens, we still talk. Whatever he's doing, I wish he'd just tell me. Keep me from worrying."

Dave had heard John sing once or twice before. The band room was just down the hall from the chorus room. John was never actually a part of chorus (even if he wanted to, it was already too full), but Dave was sure he saw John singing with a group of practicing choir boys and girls out in the hallway here and there. He was alright.

 

**IV**

When Dave passes that football player on his way to another class, he stares the guy down. He's huddled in with a crowd of his playmates, their vibrant-colored jackets standing out in the dullness of the plain, gray hallway. His first instinct is to check and see if there are any girls around them and see if they showed any signs of being uncomfortable. It was a habit formed from escorting that one girl friend to classes before she dropped out. He also kept an eye out for the girl he found behind the dumpster. That was when Dave had learned he had a protective streak. It might not have even just been a streak. He wondered if it was like a "manly instinct", like the males of the animal kingdom. Maybe he had a deep-rooted hatred for injustice and for those that made people feel--not free. Oppression. Forced silence. He valued his sense of independence and freedom a lot, and he sure as hell would be enraged if someone made him feel that way.

His heart sinks into his stomach when the player responds to Dave's burning glare, staring right back. His foot steps passed the crowd of cancerous colors seem to echo and slow down.

The Player raises his head to speak over his playmates: "What'chu fucking looking at, Shaggy."

Dave does not respond. He only continues with that nasty glare as he finally walks passed them and turns down another hallway.

 

**V**

When school ends, Dave lingers around the school for an hour or so, keeping an eye out for the colors of those jackets. Then after that hour or so, he takes a back way home, through the football field, baseball/softball fields, and through a trail through the woods that was made for the track team.

He had heard stories about that Player not only from girl friends, but guy friends too. From the guys, he had heard about how the football team would sometimes stalk and beat boys up for giving them nasty glares like Dave.

 

**VI**

When he gets home, he locks all the doors and windows and makes sure the curtains are down. When this is all done, David stands in the middle of the empty living room and can't help but feel like a pathetic idiot. What was he doing.

The hatred for injustice and oppression burns through him for a straight minute. When he calms down, he actually thinks about the Halloween movie and how some people thought all this stupidity and silliness and annoying scream queens represented the mysteriousness of nice suburban areas and the fear of one's neighbors.

 

**VII**

It isn't until the following week that Dave finally sees that asshat John at school. He feels like he hadn't seen him in so long that he wasn't so sure it was him that he was looking at. It might have been that, or that it was early in the morning and he was tired.

Dave can't get to him that morning, though. The bell rings.

 

**VIII**

He should have taken another route back home. Sneaking through the woods only worked when the people you are hiding from didn't know about it. It was the fucking track trail. Football players know track people (though track was not as celebrated as the former). He really was an idiot.

The vibrant colors of their jackets are seen at the corner of Dave's eye, among the greens and browns. He's too slow. They grab hold of his arms and thighs and the Player punches Dave until he spits blood.


	3. Troubles

**I**

The thick layer of naivete is what helps Dave's obvious injuries go unnoticed (or ignored). He had to admit that the players were smart. They always avoided trying to break any bones. Even if his parents did notice or mentioned the black eye, split lip and bruised cheek, they'd probably say: "Did you win? I did not raise a loser. I don't ever want you coming home crying from a fight."

The first thing he does is mix a bit of salt with water and holds it in his mouth to help with the blood he drew from biting his tongue.

 

**II**

He skips school for a couple of days and makes it to where he gets home late at night and leaves early in the morning so no one can stop him and ask. In the meantime, he hangs out at an old abandoned house that a lot of stoners and other hiding kids go to. Most of them are too stoned or drunk to notice or care about Dave's split lip or bruises. He wonders if he should get stitches. Maybe. But he isn't going to think about that right then.

After the two days, Dave gets hold of another girl friend and asks her to dab on some make up on what's left of the black and blue and deep red. She doesn't appear to be too concerned about the injuries. (Perhaps others had gone to her before?) She was kind of a goth chick or metalhead and she had probably been to concerts with mosh pits that produced injuries that were way worse. Even so, she still asks what happened.

Dave smiles as best as he can, considering. At least he still had his teeth: "Just a stupid fight with the neighbor kids."

She looks him up and down, like she doesn't believe him, but doesn't ask anymore. She gets out her bag.

Another great thing about having a goth or metalhead friend is that they are no stranger to needle work. To his surprise, she also gives his split lip a good sew. The sewing and tieing of the knot is almost professional (not that Dave would know anything about doctoring), and he compliments and thanks her by telling her she should become a surgeon.

 And she is so good at make up that she even has a shade of lipstick to cover the stitches.

 

**III**

When he goes back to school, things are fairly normal, aside from the fire ball in his gut. He still doesn't want to be there, but he's still too far down to start skipping for days on end, like seniors do. 

The make up must have been pretty damn good, 'cause no one looked liked they had noticed or changed their actions in a way. His guy friends still roughly hopped onto him like doofuses, like guy friends normally do, and the girl friends still came up to give him hugs. If they had noticed, they probably wouldn't have hopped onto him or hugged him, Dave thinks. And if they noticed any swelling, they might have thought it was just an early-morning, sleepy look. When they ask why he had skipped, he says that he just felt sick.

It wasn't really lying. He had never felt this dreadful before, never this anxious, on the verge of having the shakes or puking.

 

**IV**

But that's not it. The fire ball and the racing heart and the shakes is not just from fear, but from anger.

The day goes as it should, until the players pass him down a the hall, with eyes like predators, and Dave has to run to the nearest restroom to stand by the sink for a minute. 

Fuck.

He wants to punch something. He can't believe he just ran off like that. They were probably laughing about it now.

He looks in the mirror and there is a small but intense internal battle, calling himself pathetic and cowardly, his anger growing more and more as he thinks of how many other kids must be going about their days the way he is at this school, at home. Things should not be this way for a group of fucking athletes.

The internal battle is interrupted by the sound of short, quick footsteps. The ghost of another boy runs across the mirror in which Dave stared intently into. He barely gets a glimpse of him. He has dark brown hair, is thin, and appears to be hunching into himself, like he's about to puke. As Dave continues to listen out for him, he appeared to think right. There's the sound of a stall door being hastily pushed open, a solid and echoing slam against the wall, and coughing.

The protector or leader or whatever this other personality of his checks the coughing boy on instinct. He left the door open.

Well. How about that.

"John?"

He walks over and keeps his eyes wandering about anywhere except at the kneeling John, finding it rude or intruding to directly watch a person puking; keeping his gaze to the floor or some graffiti on the walls until the coughing dies down.

"John," Dave tries again. "You alright, man."

John spits. "Does it look like I'm fucking alright to you."

Ugh. Dave hated it when he got moody. It threw him off. "Okay, sorry I asked."

John stands and turns to look at him with eyes that made Dave think of the strange shaping of the sad eyes on Dot. "No," John says, his irritation now dulled down to shame, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped. It's not your fault."

Not his fault?


	4. Reformation

**I**

Nothing is said after that. A teacher heard John's heaving and gasping from being sick and stomps over from the nearest lookout down the hall. Mister Cox peeks into the restroom, just his head and shoulder seen from behind the bricks: "What was that? Everything alright in here?"

John is still pale and unable to answer on point, so Dave nods for the both of them: "Yes, sir. He just got sick."

"Well, get to class soon, alright. Hey, John. It's been a bit. If it gets any worse, go the nurse."

John nods and hoarsely responds: "Yes, sir."

Mister Cox departs and John is the first to start for the bricks in which the teacher came, passing Dave with his eyes to his feet that are as short and quick as before.

"I'll see you in band," Dave says before John leaves as quickly as he came in. "Take it easy."

John just gives him a tired look and lets out a huff, "Thanks," before walking out. 

 

**II**

After that brief meeting in the restroom, Dave has a new feeling in his stomach. Not a fire ball, but it's just as dreadful and consuming, almost just as painful; like a rapidly growing mold or poison. He isn't sure why he is feeling the way he is now when it was John that got sick. The hours feel like months, the teachers' lectures sound like muffled gibberish, and he begins to wonder if John will even stick around long enough for band. That kid was like a knat, here and there, hello and goodbye.

At the end of the day, Band is slow, with the director mostly absent from the room (probably chugging down a flask of liquor or chain smoking out back somewhere), and Dave and his peers are just fucking around. He's glad the day's like this now. It always cheers him up, at least for a little while. The fire ball and mold are gone. And like always, the percussionist gets a glimpse of John out in the hall with the choir people.

When he sings, it's like everything is back to normal. But when they are not singing, he's nodding to what they are saying and has a smile, but the smile is too small, and he has the same look in his eyes from when he saw him in the restroom. The fire ball and mold spring back up only a little then. Lazy, fun days in the chorus room probably had the same affect on him, no matter how bad the hours were before. Dave freely going about the keyboards and percussion set with interesting people around him made him feel light when he was heavy with burden or stress and getting lost in song probably made John just as whimsical.

They stop singing and the sadly-shaped eyes come back. He looks like he stayed up all night and gave up trying to beg his parents to let him stay home some more.

Other than to hang out with other singers, he looks like he really doesn't want to be there. 

Dave's inner personality makes him stand and approach him in the hall.

 

**III**

"What happened to you, Lemma?"

"Oh, I've just been sick the past couple of days."

"No, I mean to your face. You're wearing make up."

"Just a little rough housing with the neighbor kids. Just being dumb."

Dot looks him up and down, exactly like his metalhead friend. "They don't look like they played fair. Your hands aren't bruised. How many were there."

"You really expect any fight to be played fair?"

"They have no honor. This was done by a wolf and his pack of sheep. Get his sheep confused and off guard and you will see that the wolf is also just a sheep in disguise."

 

**IV**

"Hey, John. Feeling any better?"

"No. Not really."

Well, then.

"Where have you been?"

Silence.

"Dot's been really worried."

"I can't see her anymore."

"Why not."

"I can't say."

"Why."

"You wouldn't get it. No one gets it."

"About two or three times now--the football players have been ganging up on me and beating me senseless. I am wearing make up right now. Dot was the only one that saw through it."

"Dot's so wonderful. But she can't be with me. I'll just make her miserable."

"Surely not."

"Yes. Surely."

"Come on. Tell me."

John just looks at him, that sad look in his eyes intensified. "I..."

No.  _ **No.**_

It can't be what Dave thinks it is. "Are the players hurting you too?"

"Just one."

"Who?"

"You know who."

Why was it so hard for him to just say the guy's name?

 

**V**

"Hey, Dot."

"Lemma."

"Hey, I think I need your help."

"What's up."

"Real quick--I need you to teach me some quick moves. Small ones. I don't want to become a champion. Just good enough."

"It's them, isn't it. The players."

"Yeah."

Dave was going to add that it would help John. His insides were screaming it. He was talkative; he was more honest than this, but lately, he had been learning how to keep secrets. It was a world far from his own, and he did not plan on letting it continue, but for now, he was keeping this from Dot; for John to tell her in his own time. It was not his place. Hell, Dot probably already knew something was up with John. She knew this would help John. She probably knew exactly what was going on.

 

**VI**

The beatings stop for a few days and Dave isn't sure if they plan to do it again or not. He already showed his cowardice enough to make him not look like a threat anymore. Maybe that was all they needed. Maybe they wanted to keep him on edge and attack again later.

It made his heart hammer in his chest. But he has to do this. He's not going to let them decide anymore.

 

**VII**

The run in goes exactly like it had in the beginning. Dave passes them for a class. He stares the main Player down as they huddle up and talk. Then his gaze shoots to his feet, like usual, and he knows the players are smirking when he passes. And that's fine. 

Dave then swings around, the smoothness of the tiles making it easy for him to spin back around on the ball of his foot. He approaches from their back sides, going for Him: "Hey."

He turns, the Ring Leader, and Dave doesn't waste those sweet few seconds. He balls his fist and he can feel his fingers pop from the swift blow to His cheek, right for the nose line. The guy stumbles back and Davd keeps going, hammering into him furiously, over and over. The shrieks from the students and the scolding of teachers are blurred out in the fury. He beats him hard to push him to the floor and to have blood on his knuckles. 

Dave doesn't give a shit that it's in school. Doesn't give a shit that he'll get in big trouble for it. He cannot let this go. He can't let this slide without a bang. He can't let this monster continue what he was doing unfazed.

 

**VIII**

"Have they hurt John too?"

"I don't know."


End file.
